


The Odyssey

by Kriegsandharris



Category: Florence + the Machine
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:13:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23817463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kriegsandharris/pseuds/Kriegsandharris
Summary: Florence Welch heads to L.A. hoping to start working on her third album, and leaves with a lot more than she planned for.An interpretation of the Florence + the Machine visual album "The Odyssey".
Comments: 3
Kudos: 19





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> c/w: non-explicit sex, suicide attempt, drinking, injury (just think along the lines of the actual Odyssey film if you've seen it)
> 
> This is going to be my best attempt at de-metaphorizing "The Odyssey." I love it so much, and have always wanted to attempt to write about it using an actual plot (Shout out to 1920 for encouraging me to finally do it!)
> 
> This is meant to be a story, just like The Odyssey is, so even though I'm talking about real people, this isn't meant to necessarily reflect real life.

“Art is what connects us to whatever lies beyond this world,” Florence can remember her mother telling her when she was little. She had been drilling her mother with questions about the importance of art, and about what  _ exactly _ she did as an art historian.

While Florence loved art, she never understood the practicality of it when she was younger. Sure, it was beautiful and entertaining, but it wasn’t going to write newspapers or build bridges or save lives. 

When she got a little bit older, she started realizing that she, like most humans, needed art to  _ survive _ . Before the days of being a professional singer, she studied and made art non-stop, trying to figure out the meaning of life with only some acrylic paint and pens.

She was obsessed with Dante’s Inferno—it was like a never ending well of inspiration. It gave her something to paint, and it gave her something to place her never ending feelings of guilt and shame in. Through those nine circles, she worked to find some sort of epiphany through the years, rereading the words and repainting the horrors they contained.

Before she got a change to find that epiphany, though, music crept in, her voice equally as talented as her hands and eyes.

Music had served her well. While it was a struggle in the beginning, miraculously finding Rob and Isa and then Chris and Tom proved to be the biggest accomplishment of her life. They were able to create something for themselves, and had stuck together through the years of producing two full albums and going on exhausting tours.

While she loved all of them, Rob and Isa were her best friends. She trusted them with her whole being, and valued their opinion on literally  _ anything _ above anyone else’s. They grew up together, getting through all the awkwardness and ugliness that the decade from twenty to thirty seemed to contain. They had become so close that at times, it seemed like they had just one consciousness.

So maybe that’s why she is so upset that they  _ both _ don’t seem to like her new boyfriend.

While in recent years she’d seen huge success, Florence has been longing for something else, though she couldn’t put her finger on what. A few years ago, it was to be the size of a double-zero model. That proved to be unsustainable and dangerous. Then it was to headline huge festivals. Those just left her feeling empty. For a while, the little pills she would get her hands on at parties suppressed the feeling of longing enough that it went away. Unfortunately, they also left her too close to death’s door on far too many occasions. 

Then she met her current boyfriend. He was the first serious relationship she’d had since her first love, a love that left her nearly broken at the end of it. 

He is nice enough, and definitely her type; he is tall and thin, with dark hair and light eyes. Isa used to joke that Florence only had the capability to see exactly one type of guy, and this new boyfriend is just another piece of evidence that her hypothesis may be true. 

Florence had been through a few boyfriends between the time she broke up with her first serious boyfriend and this new boyfriend; there was the guy she took on a trip to Mexico who ghosted her, then the guy from New York that Florence spent a summer with, then a guitarist who was working at the studio Florence was recording in. There were a few additional random flings that only lasted a few weeks. 

Isa and Rob never really understood why Florence moved so quickly between people. It was always unclear who ended the relationship, and Florence never really liked discussing anything at length. 

This new boyfriend, though, seems like he is here to stay, whether they like it or not.

—

Florence had always had this weird feeling of impending doom that followed her like a cloud. Some days it was quiet, and some days it would wrap around her so tightly that it felt as if she couldn’t breathe. When she tried to explain it to people—and  _ especially _ when she would try to explain it to boyfriends—they would usually just laugh. 

She can remember in Mexico, trying to explain it to her then-boyfriend, who ultimately started arguing that going through catastrophe only made people closer, which Florence couldn’t disagree more with. He had heard Florence talking in her sleep, scared that someone was coming to find her. Florence was somewhat annoyed at the admission—what kind of person would just let their partner suffer through a night terror? That question led them down a path of contemplating suffering, and what had started off as banter ended with Florence sitting alone in a car while rain poured down somewhere in the middle of Mexico. He had left to go find gas and told her to stay put. He never returned though. After crying herself into a full blown anxiety attack, she had stumbled into a church, hoping that some higher being would calm her down. 

While god never came down to save her, a local had helped her relax and find a phone. 

After that incident, she was hesitant to open up with boyfriends. Something about her worldview came off as bat-shit-crazy to guys, and she had started to learn to keep it to herself.

This new boyfriend is nice enough, and he gives Florence a sense of togetherness and maturity. The anxious longing she had been feeling was somewhat quelled by his presence.

In the early days of their relationship, he was kind and patient, and he would spend hours listening to Florence’s ideas, and going on long walks with her around London, and generally being all the things a good boyfriend should be. He didn’t think much of the fact that Florence rarely wanted sex, and initially really respected that part of her. He was content to do what she wanted, which was usually read their own separate books in silence.

Things hadn’t been the same since St. Jude though, and Florence knows it. That weekend, they were stuck sheltering inside at his place, the storm making it dangerous to travel even just around the city. On the second day of sheltering, he had made them a nice dinner, one that they even got dressed up for. It was a nice night in, and eventually, they found themselves in his bedroom, Florence pushed up against the door.

“I’m tired,” she had whined as he softly pressed kisses into her neck and ran his hands over her breasts. She placed a hand on his chest and pushed him away before giving him one small, final kiss on the lips. “Soon, I promise,” she said as she walked towards her bag to get her pyjamas. 

He groaned and then pulled forward a chair that sat next to his dresser. While the lack of sex hadn’t initially bothered him too much, it was becoming worthy of at  _ least _ a conversation. After gathering his thoughts for a moment, he finally asked the question that had been on his mind for months. “Flo, why do you never want to have sex with me?”

She was caught off guard by the question, and turned on her heel to sit on the bed across from him. Even though she wasn’t extremely done up, she looked gorgeous, her long hair falling over her exposed shoulders, and he wanted nothing more than to show her how much he was falling for her.   


“We have sex _all_ the time.” _Relative to how often I had sex with old boyfriends, it_ is _all the time,_ she thought to herself.

“ _ Maybe _ once every other week is  _ not _ ‘all the time,’ Flo.”

Florence was speechless. She had  _ never _ cared for sex. She did get the feeling that her boyfriends and flings had been annoyed by it through the years, but she had never been blatantly called out about it.

“Am I not good enough for you?” he asked seriously, returning her to reality.

“No, it’s not that, I just…” She didn’t really have an answer for him. She started to get up to walk towards him, but he just scoffed and shook his head. Immediately, she sat back down on the bed in embarrassment. 

She bit her lip and tried to think of how to redeem the nice night that she had now ruined. “I’m sorry. You’re right,” she said, kicking herself internally.  _ If you don’t want to have sex, just don’t have sex! _ She sat up on the bed straighter, pulling her strappy red dress down lower and slightly parting her legs as she looked at him sitting in the chair across from her. “Come on,” she whispered pleadingly. “Where did we leave off?”

He had his face in his hand, clearly upset with what was happening. “I believe we were getting ready for bed,” he said, turning away from her and leaving the room.

Not knowing what else to do, Florence quietly gathered her things and walked back to the house she had just moved into. Outside it was pouring, but she managed to walk all the way home through the heavy winds and rain. Her anxiety was through the roof, and without thinking, she filled the downstairs bathtub that she rarely ever used. 

She peeled her dress off, wanting nothing more than to forget about what had just happened. 

When the bath was full, she climbed in, and then immediately submerged herself under the water.

She could feel her long hair floating around her, and she squeezed her eyes shut as she tried to drown out the feeling of not being enough. She counted to thirty, feeling her lungs burn, and then surfaced. 

Needing something to calm her thumping heart, she climbed out of the tub and walked to her kitchen, dripping water all over the hardwood floor. She reached for a bottle of tequila on top of her fridge, and then twisted it open, drinking it straight from the bottle as she returned to the tub.

She sat on the toilet lid for a bit, sipping from the bottle every minute or so. After letting the effects of the alcohol kick in, she stepped back in the tub and once again submerged herself, not giving herself a time limit this time.

When she reached eighty, she began to wonder when she would pass out. At one hundred and four, she contemplated sucking the water into her lungs. 

_ That would kill you _ , she suddenly thought.  _ That would kill you. There would be no coming back from this. This is fucking suicide, Florence! _

Quickly realizing exactly what she was doing, she resurfaced with a huge gasp, throwing herself over the edge of the tub. As soon as she caught her breath, she drained the tub, ashamed of what she had just done.

She wrapped a towel around herself and then found her phone. She immediately dialed the only number she knew she could at this hour.

“Flo it’s three in the morning,” Isa said in a raspy voice through the line as soon as she picked up. 

“I think I just tried to kill myself,” Florence said flatly.    


“Are you drunk?” Isa asked, suddenly sounding more awake.   


“Yes, but—I think I just tried to drown myself. Even before I was drunk.”

“Flo, what the fuck,” Isa said in a panic. “I’ll be over in five, sit your ass down and don’t move.”

Isa had helped her through that night, reassuring her that she wasn’t wrong, that her feelings were valid and she deserved respect. They agreed that while tonight was probably just a weird anxiety attack, maybe Florence should start seeing a psychiatrist. Isa wasn’t sure what to do about her boyfriend—he had left nine voicemails on her phone and wouldn’t stop calling until Isa texted him to let him know Florence was safe. He clearly cared, but he also just seemed like a  _ total dick _ . Isa could understand both sides of the argument, but she  _ didn’t _ understand how someone wouldn’t respect her best-friend’s wishes.

—

A few months later, they all find themselves in L.A. It is a  _ work trip _ , they are reminded no less than five-hundred times from the label. There are studios booked, and rooms secured in the Chateau Marmont.

Even though it is a work trip, Florence is excited to show her boyfriend Los Angeles. It is her absolute favorite city, and she wants to do everything. She had pulled a few strings to get him a plane ticket, and they made sure to book Florence a room with a bed big enough for the two of them. 

Isa holds her tongue as she and Rob watch Florence cling to her boyfriend from afar in the lobby as they check in. Tom and Chris are still pretty oblivious to the whole thing, assuming that this is just another fling that Florence has brought along for the trip; Isa is thankful for this, as she’s desperately trying to keep her thoughts to herself. She is disgusted by the way Florence’s boyfriend pays no attention to her while she looks at him like he hung the moon himself, but she still keeps quiet. Rob still doesn’t know about the St. Jude incident, and she doesn’t want to skew his opinion of him. 

“I don’t like that guy,” Rob eventually says anyway with a shake of his head. “I don’t know why, but I—I just don’t fucking like him,” he says, getting up and pushing the cart with his and Isa’s bags once they are handed the keys to their rooms.   


Isa doesn’t refute his statement, letting her silence speak for itself. Following Rob to the elevator, she exhales, knowing that this is going to be a  _ long _ trip.

The trip begins well for Florence; she shows her boyfriend all the sights, and they drive around, Florence pointing out houses that she wouldn’t mind living in.

Isa and Rob do a good job of hiding their annoyance when he joins in on group activities. Painfully, he comes along to the pool, and to the hikes, and even once, to the studio. Knowing that he isn’t going to disappear anytime soon, Rob even tries to engage in conversation, but is only met with bored expressions and thoughtless replies. 

The five of them put in their hours at the studio, but not much gets accomplished. Isa can only work off of ideas that Florence comes up with, and Rob can only work off of ideas that Isa comes up with, and Chris and Tom can only work when the songs are mostly done; Florence isn’t coming up with anything, leaving them all in a block.   


“Earth to Flo,” Rob says one day. They only have half an hour left in the studio, and exactly three lines of a song completed.

“Sorry, I’m just… thinking,” she says, sounding defeated. Her boyfriend is back at the hotel, and Rob briefly wonders if she was out of it because she is  _ missing _ him, however gross it is.

The truth is though, Florence is exhausted. Physically. Emotionally. She had made a deal with herself that she would have sex every night during their time in L.A., no matter how much she didn’t want to. She wants to make this relationship work, and she is willing to do whatever it takes.

The first night, the sex went great; she had taken control, and he was  _ very _ clearly into it. She faked her way through the whole thing, mirroring his expressions and expressing pleasure in just about every way she could think of. She was on top of him, and under him, and made quite the ordeal of making him feel special. For the first time in a long time, he had held her as they fell asleep that night, a sort of intimacy that Florence actually enjoyed.

Last night though had been an enormous failure. They had gone to a fancy dinner; Florence wore a full ball gown and had put her hair in a neat updo, and he wore a full suit and tie. When they got back to their room, they watched the storm that had come through from their balcony. Florence sweetly kissed him, and they stood there for a while, hand in hand, watching lightning crack against the dark sky.

When it started raining, they retreated inside. He carefully undid Florence’s dress, slipping it off of her and quickly hanging it up before turning around and gently kissing her. 

She helped him out of his jacket, then his shirt and tie before slowly unbuttoning his pants and sliding them down his legs. They delicately caressed each other, letting their lips crash together before he pushed her down to the bed only wearing the strapless slip she had worn under the dress. 

He continued kissing her until he eventually inched away to pull the slip off of her. When he looked at her face though, he noticed tears in her eyes.    


“What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing I’m just…nothing,” she replied, reaching up to kiss him. 

“No, what is it?”

She bit her lip and then flopped down onto the bed. “I’m exhausted, and I really don’t feel like doing this,” she quickly breathed out as a tear fell from the corner of her eye. She was tired of playing pretend, and honestly just needed to  _ sleep _ .

He looked at her quizzically, and then climbed off of her, sitting on the edge of the bed. 

“Why wouldn’t you just tell me that to begin with,” he said flatly, somewhat annoyed by the emotional outburst.

Florence didn’t reply, but she did breathe a sigh of relief once he got up to go to the bathroom and get ready for bed.

“Alright, so I guess we’re  _ not _ getting work done today,” Rob says as Florence continues staring off into space in the studio. 

“I’m sorry, I—”   


“You’re fine,” Isa sighs as she takes off the headphones around her neck. Rob was starting to get more annoyed that usual, and Isa just  _ knows _ that this boyfriend is contributing to it. “We’re going out tonight, we all need a break.”

“I’m down with that,'' Chris says, rubbing his forehead. “This is mind numbing.”

Florence nods with relief, knowing that her boyfriend won’t want to come with. She can use the night away, and getting drunk until she doesn’t remember her own name sounds like a pretty good time. “That sounds fantastic.”

In the dimly lit and loud club, Rob brings over dirty martinis to Florence and Isa while Chris and Tom sit at the bar. They are all already a bit drunk, pregaming with whatever they could find in their minifridges back at the hotel.

“Start drinking, we’re getting blackout,” Isa says, raising her glass to Florence and Rob. They clink glasses and then throw them back as if they were shots. 

“Think we can find E here?” Florence asks loudly over the music.

Rob rolls his eyes. “ _ Business. Trip. _ We are laying low, and we are sure as  _ hell _ not getting up to anything illegal, you know how the cops are here.”

Florence shakes her head, and then beckons for a shot from a bartender with a tray of glasses. 

“I mean it Flo,” Rob says firmly as she cheekily downs the shot and then shimmies onto the dance floor.

What must be over a solid twenty drinks between the three of them later, Florence is off singing her one of her own songs in the corner karaoke booth, her loud, drunken voice filling the entire space.

“So much for laying low,” Isa slurs as the crowd on the dance floor jumps up and down to Florence.

“I’m gonna kill her tomorrow,” Rob says drunkenly. Chris and Tom had left hours ago to go to an  _ actual bar _ rather than a club full of twenty-somethings, and now Isa and Rob are fully alone as Florence gets lost in the crowd. 

“So what do you think of her twat boyfriend?” Rob asks.

“Pardon?” Isa asks, not able to hear him over the bass.

“Her fucking boyfriend, you know, the one that had to follow us all the way from London, you have any thoughts?”   


Isa scoffs. While she sure as hell doesn’t like him, Rob doesn’t have any  _ real _ reason other than once having to get over a horrific crush on the redhead  _ years _ ago.

“Not my favorite,” she says.   


“Mine either.” Rob finishes another beer and then firmly plants the glass bottle down on the bartop. “I’m gonna go talk to her.”

“Rob don’t do that,” Isa says, trying and failing to hold him back before he disappears into the crowd. She groans, both at the feeling of her head and stomach and the fact that Rob was about to bring up issues Isa had managed to somewhat forget about.

“Florence!” Rob shouts over the crowd, using his height to his advantage once he spots the redhead.

With a huge drunken smile on her face, she quickly runs to him. “Bobby!” she squeals, hugging him tightly. 

“Listen, I need to talk to you,” he says, trying his best to be serious despite the amount of alcohol coursing through his body.

“I’m having sooooo much fun,” Florence says. Her makeup is smudged all over her face, and her hairline is covered in sweat.

Rob grabs her hand and pulls her towards a single-stall bathroom. He quickly opens the door and pushes her in before following and pulling it shut. He can hear someone holler from outside, but he rolls his eyes and ignores it as Florence leans against the wall. 

“I don’t like your boyfriend.”   


“Yeah, me either,” she says with a huge laugh. 

Her response puzzles him. He was expecting her to defend him, but then—

“But he loooves me,” she says with a smirk. “And I love him. I just don’t like him. Does that make sense?” she asks seriously. 

“No, that makes  _ no _ fucking sense,” he says back, his eyebrows furrowed.

Florence just laughs and then pulls him by the hand back out onto the dance floor. 

—

The next day, Rob, Isa, and Florence are  _ fully _ hungover, which is unfortunate since they have an engineer joining in on the session they are scheduled for.

Florence had slept over in Isa’s room since they got back so late, and now she is getting ready next to her after grabbing her outfit and makeup bag from her own room.

“Ugh, showers with clothes on don’t really get you clean, huh,” Florence says with annoyance, pulling a few stray pieces of glitter off her chest.

“No, but they  _ are _ entertaining,” Isa laughs as she pulls a dress over her head. “We are  _ so _ fucked for today.”   


“Oh,  _ totally _ fucked,” Florence says, putting finishing touches on her makeup and trying her best to straighten her hair into place. They had gotten  _ much _ better at concealing hangovers through the years, a small miracle considering how they used to handle them.

“What are you guys getting up to later?” Florence asks. 

“We’re all going bowling with the engineer, I thought you were coming? We’re trying to  _ network _ ,” she says, poking fun at their label manager who had encouraged the activity before they left. “Are you and your man sick of us?”

“No, no. We’re just actually going out for lunch. He booked a reservation,” Florence says, pulling on a pair of red trousers. She frantically looks around for a moment before groaning. “ _ Fuck _ , I forgot a bra.”

It takes everything Isa has in her not to roll her eyes at Florence’s  _ lunch date _ . “Just don’t wear one, you’ll be fine. You don’t have time to go back upstairs now anyway,” Isa says as Florence curses herself again. She pulls off her top and replaces it with a white t-shirt, which she tucks into the trousers. She pulls a large horseshoe necklace around her neck, and then checks herself in the mirror before going back to the bathroom.

Florence and Isa make final adjustments to their hair and makeup before pulling on their shoes and walking to the lobby. Florence throws a matching red blazer over her t-shirt and as the group walks outside, she pulls on a floppy black hat. 

“It’s a miracle the three of us look even remotely human,” Rob says, rubbing his eyes as the bright sun blinds them.

Isa just laughs. “Well let’s keep trying to act human so we can successfully  _ network _ .”

  
They actually have a productive day in the studio. It is incredible how quickly Isa and Florence manage to work when they are both hungover, and they have a good time with the engineer who is very helpful as they begin to record odds and ends. 

Things are going so well that they go over time without realizing it. Eventually, Florence checks her phone and notices a missed call and text. “Shit, my driver is here,” she says, quickly gathering her things. “I have to get going.”

“Are you not coming bowling?” Chris and Rob both ask quizzically. 

“Nah, I have a bit of a lunch date,” she replies as she goes over to thank the engineer who had joined them.    


Chris rolls his eyes and Rob clenches his teeth, doing his best to relax once Florence returns. 

“Let me at least walk you out.”

It is a clear, beautiful day in L.A., and truthfully, Rob is a bit disappointed that Florence would be missing out on the group activities. He tries to convince himself that he is overreacting, that he is being overly-possessive towards Florence. But he just can’t shake the feeling that something is off. Once they reach the car, Florence gives Rob her best reassuring smile. He bites his lip and then nods his head, politely opening up the door without acknowledging the man sitting across the seat. Florence gives Rob a quiet thanks as he shuts the door before turning towards her boyfriend. 

“Hi,” she says quietly with a smile. “Sorry I was running late.”   


“I’m used to it by now,” he says with a little laugh. “How are things going?”

“They’re, ehm… they’re good, yeah.”   


He raises his eyebrows. “You seem sure about that.”   


Florence smirks and shakes her head. “Just a lot of work to get done.”

He looks her in the eye. Sometimes, Florence thinks, it seems as if he is looking straight through her.

Once again, that feeling of impending doom surrounds her. She had gotten good at keeping quiet about it, but once he asks her what’s wrong, she can’t help but speak up.

“There’s something else going on, what is it?”

“It’s stupid,” Florence says with a little laugh, but he nods for her to go on. “Sometimes, I get this feeling, like—it’s almost as if I can sense something is going to happen, and then it happens. And right now—it’s like there’s this big storm that’s all around us, and we’re in the middle of it, so it’s calm, but—I can  _ feel _ it.” She pauses as he places his hand on her knee. She gently grabs it, and then continues. “Like, it’s everywhere. And things are okay now, but I never know when that’s gonna change.”

Once again, she finds him staring right through her. She watches as he tries to muster up a reassuring smile, but diverts her eyes to the ground when she senses that she is starting to sound crazy. 

She continues holding his hand, watching as little stores and palm trees pass her window. She tries her best to relax, to think about anything other than how she would much rather be bowling with her friends right now. 

Just as she starts zoning out, she feels him caress the back of her hand. She starts to look up at him, but just as she glances away from the window, she feels the world move from beneath her. 

The sound of a car hitting her door is terrifying, and in an instant her head is hitting the seat in front of her before her entire body unceremoniously hits the roof.

She hears the top of the car hit the ground, and then a few screams from the street around them.    


_ Why the fuck were you not wearing a seatbelt? _ she asks herself as she lies face down in broken glass. She blinks her eyes a few times, and then lifts her hands to inspect them. They look fine, the same they always do. She is scared to look behind her but eventually she musters up the courage, lifting up her head and turning it around.

Her boyfriend is hung upside down, his seatbelt keeping him trapped in his seat. His eyes are half open and he is staring off into space as his head limply dangles, but for some reason she is unconcerned. 

Exhausted and confused, she rests for a few minutes, the smell of burning rubber and smoke gradually dissipating. 

She wonders when help will come; if this is anything like all the American crime shows she watches religiously, they will be here within the minute. She waits and waits, but eventually the sun is setting and she knows she needs to find help herself. 

She moves her toes, and then her ankles, and then bends her knees a little bit. She is shocked to realize that everything seems to be uninjured. Carefully avoiding the shattered glass, she puts her hands out of what used to be the window, and awkwardly pulls herself out of the wreckage. 

Once she’s out, she stands up and looks around. The two cars are still lying in the road, but all the pedestrians that were screaming are gone. The streets are empty, Florence realizes. She reaches for her phone, but realizes that it’s still in the wreckage. She groans and then turns back, peering into the car and pulling out her bag. When she opens it up, nothing is in it.  _ Great, someone must have stolen everything  _ she thinks, upset by the thought of losing all the lyrics she had written in her phone notes.

With no other option, she starts walking, finding a bridge that connects the two sides of L.A. She tries to decipher where she is, looking around at the skyline. 

_ Probably somewhere between the crucifix and the sign _ , she thinks as she begins walking towards the other side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooooooooo quick life update: my sleep schedule is a mess, and I promised myself that I wouldn't finish the next chapter of Under until I finish my 12 page paper due Sunday (that I haven't started). So my brain decided that it would be okay to start an entirely new fic since it technically isn't the one I told myself I can't do. Here it is. I already have the entire final chapter written so it's about half way done. Oops.
> 
> Also going to go ahead and let you know this is *not* going to be a Florabella fic, sry :(
> 
> Expect an Under update early next week!
> 
> Please leave me your thoughts, this film is the most precious thing in the whole world, I love it so much and would love to hear new interpretations!


	2. Chapter 2

The next day Florence wakes in an unfamiliar place, breathing hard as she tries to gather her surroundings. Her throat feels tight, and her lungs burn as she takes in air. She is in some sort of funeral home she realizes as she takes in the large arrangements of flowers and the old curtains hung up over windows. It makes her feel sick as memories of American funerals for her mum’s relatives flood back. She doesn’t have much time to question it though, because soon enough a group of men are surrounding her. 

Curiously, she looks at each of their faces. Her eyes go wide as she recognizes that this group of men are in fact all the men she has ever slept with.

She is surrounded by boyfriends and flings and random guys that she hooked up in her younger years. Some of them are barely recognizable, much older than they were the last time she saw them.

Frantically, she begins looking for her boyfriend. Surely he must be here, she thinks. She has that horrible image of him dangling in the car stuck in her head, and she just wants to know that he is okay.

Her efforts are stalled by all of the other various men pushing her around. She goes from man to man, desperately looking at each of their faces. They seem to grow angrier though, eventually pinning her up against the wall as she begins to scream. She does her best to push back, but her tiny frame isn't of much use against the twenty or so men surrounding her.

After a few more minutes of struggle, Florence finally finds him. His face is bloodied and expressionless, and for a moment, Florence feels an intense desire to wrap him up in a hug, bring him to hospital, and then go home. She delicately touches his face, and thinks about the early days of their relationship. Of walking around London, and cooking for each other. Something in her switches, however, when she remembers that he left her without a seatbelt just minutes before they got in that awful accident. 

She pushes him away and turns around, but then almost instantly regrets it. She is once again being pushed around, grabbed, and thrown back and forth across the room. Another few minutes of agony pass before she finally finds him, and this time, she throws her arms around him. He feels cold as Florence buries her face into his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she says, though she isn’t sure for what. He doesn’t respond, instead just giving her that glassy look of his that she has become so familiar with.

As she continues to hold a tight grip on him, she can feel the other men around her growing agitated. Before she knows what’s happening, a few of them pick her up, forcefully removing her from him. She screams at them to put her down, and as they begin to walk down a hallway, she notices her boyfriend being carried off by a different group of men. 

She reaches for him, desperate to go back, but they don't relent. She is able to grab his hand for a brief second before she disappears down a dark corridor. Suddenly feeling tired, her body goes limp, and one larger man carries her by himself, passing her to another when he himself grows tired. 

Next thing she knows, she is waking up yet again, this time on a bare mattress surrounded by the men from earlier. They are all sitting on foldable chairs, neatly lined up around the perimeter of the mattress. Now that they are all sitting still, she is able to recognize more of them. 

Her first boyfriend from school. 

A guy from a drunken night out at the Joiners Arms when she was much younger. 

An actor she had met at a charity dinner. 

Her previous boyfriend.

A sound engineer. 

A friend who showed his interest very suddenly one night in a car park.

Her head spins as she looks around at the various men, and suddenly, she feels pure anger. 

She screams and screams, and while they all look disturbed, they remain silent. A few of them reach out to touch her, but she violently shoves them away, screaming directly in their faces at their various offenses. 

After what feels like hours of sitting with all of these men who bring back mostly horrific memories, her boyfriend appears, taking her by the hand and leading her to a different room. She is relieved to get away from both the mattress and the memories.

The room her boyfriend leads her to also only contains just a single, bare mattress on the floor Florence finds out. 

He leads her in, and then begins to delicately kiss her. Florence feels relieved, glad to be away from all the men of her past. 

He slips the white button up she had been wearing over her head before gently running his hands up and down her torso and quietly removing her bra. She does the same to him, carefully pulling off his shirt, and then his trousers. 

He leads her to the mattress, and kisses up and down her exposed skin as she holds onto his head, savoring the feeling of intimacy after the scary few hours she had just endured. 

After a few minutes, she is naked except for a pair of pants. Some weird feeling returns as he continues kissing her. 

She remembers that night during the storm. And the night at the Chateau Marmont only a few days ago. 

She remembers the feeling of wanting to die in her bathtub back in Camberwell. 

Suddenly, she pushes him off of her. 

He lies still from his place on the floor, and suddenly Florence is consumed by the vague feeling that he might be dead. His body doesn’t move, and as she carefully watches his chest for a sign of life, she is met with an eerie stillness.

—

The next time she wakes up, she is choking on water. 

It is that same feeling of when she emerged from the tub all those months ago, and as she continues to sputter and gasp for air, she wishes that Isa was by her side more than anything. She thinks back to the night all those months ago that Isa had appeared at her door at three in the morning, dressed in pyjamas despite the cold and rainy weather. She thinks of the feeling of curling into Isa as she comfortingly stroked her wet hair, and how she had slept peacefully for the first time in what had been months.

Florence blinks her eyes open after she manages to cough up a good amount of water. Her hair and dress are soaking wet, and she is just a tad bit cold as she pushes herself up. 

She is on a beach, and the sun is just beginning to rise, casting a swirl of purple, blue, and orange over the dimly lit sky. 

“You poor thing,” she hears faintly from behind her. 

She hears footsteps in the sand, and suddenly, three women are surrounding her. 

“We need to get her breathing, quickly,” another one says. 

Her vision fades in and out, going from black to hazy blue over and over again. By now, the three women are holding her up, leading her towards the water. It takes everything she has in her to move her legs; her lungs feel as if they might explode at any moment.

Once the water is up to their chests, the women lay Florence back, supporting her by her arms and back. They wash her face with water as they all talk over one another, trying to calm her breathing. 

Florence watches as thin clouds float beneath the colorful sky, and she wonders if she will ever feel okay again. 

She is once again haunted by images in her head; the wreck, and her boyfriend lying on the floor, and all sorts of morbid scenes from various points in her life. 

Before long, the women are suddenly lowering her underwater. She squeezes her eyes shut as sharp pain returns to her lungs.

_ Maybe this is punishment _ , she thinks.  _ Maybe they’re here to finish what I started _ .

After a while they pull her back up, and she opens her mouth wide as she gasps for air.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, we’re done now,” one of them says as they smooth back her hair and gently stroke her face. 

She tries to respond, but is too exhausted to get any sound out. 

Gently, they carry her back to the shore, carefully placing her comfortably into the sand before disappearing over the horizon. 

—

The next time she wakes up, she is lying on firm ground covered by clay and grass. Hazily, she pushes herself up and squints her eyes in the bright sunlight. Above her, a huge swarm of birds fly across the evening sky. She takes in her surroundings, and then realizes that she is somehow in Mexico. She isn’t completely familiar with geography, but she figures it can’t be too far from Los Angeles. She must just not remember how she got here. 

The scenery is beautiful, but she becomes a little distressed when she notices a woman, wearing only a pair of jeans, stretching her arms to the sky. Red hair falls over her shoulders, and Florence is taken aback by how similar she looks to herself, with lanky limbs with knobby joints, and a prominent spine running down her back.

Florence watches as the topless woman takes in the scenery, quietly picking at the strap of one of the sandals she is wearing. She tries not to make noise, not wanting to startle the other woman, but it doesn’t matter because soon enough the woman is turned around, facing her. 

Florence gasps as she takes in the sight of the person in front of her.

Her sharp cheekbones.

The small, dark birthmark on her right rib. 

Her downturned green eyes.

The bright tattoos on her left forearm.

The clone starts to approach her, and Florence feels her heart race as her vision goes dark again.

  
When she comes to, she is in the arms of a man she has never seen before. Rain is pouring down despite the fact they are inside a tiny, stone shelter, and the man places Florence down. Thankful for the presence of another human, she embraces him. She thinks about asking him to help her get back to L.A., or ask if he knew about the woman she had seen a few minutes prior. Before she gets the chance though, he removes himself from her embrace and walks away.

Florence exits the structure, and to her surprise, it is no longer raining. Children run around the street, and large trees sway in the wind, and Florence can swear she hears strings and horns off in the distance.

She continues to walk, doing her best not to cry at how incredibly lost she feels. Everything and everyone around her seems to be so happy, living their daily lives as she wanders the street alone. 

Her thoughts are broken and she jumps back a bit when she notices the identical woman kneeling at the entrance of a church.    


The exact church, in fact, that her boyfriend had abandoned her at all those years ago.

This time, she is wearing a white shirt and shoes along with the jeans, and her light red hair is splayed across her shoulders. She has an awful flashback of the fight in the car, and the heavy rain, and then desperately crawling into the very building she now finds herself in front of.

Alongside the clone, four men exit the church, each carrying a large stone. Florence’s mind flashes back to the primary school lesson about Jesus carrying his own cross, and then her vision goes dark again.   


Before she falls, the same man from before scoops her up, carrying her as she recovers. She thinks about the weekend of the storm, and London, and how helpless she had felt just a few months earlier. When the man puts her down, she briefly embraces him before pushing him to the side. 

As she continues to wander, a man comes up to her, obviously concerned about why she is alone. He speaks in Spanish, and Florence reassures him with a small nod before continuing on her way.

When she finally reaches an empty field, another swarm of birds fills the sky above. She watches them, and then collapses to her knees in exhaustion.

—

The next time she wakes up, she is on the floor of her bedroom in Camberwell. Her face is covered with the marks of the rug below her, and her arm is numb from being in a funny position on the floor. She is wearing only a pair of jeans and a red bralette, and becomes startled as she notices the various bottles and pills surrounding her. She slowly makes her way to her feet, truly confused now as to how she ended up in London. She goes to the window and looks out to confirm that this isn’t a dream. It is pouring outside, and she takes inventory of the various cars she has grown familiar with out on the street. All the trees are still there, and the frames of the old gas works are still looming in the distance. As she goes to turn away though, she jumps. 

In the middle of the street, on her knees, is the demonic looking clone of herself, looking Florence directly in the eye. 

Not believing that this is real, Florence turns on her heel and runs a hand through her hair. There is a man in her bed, and she briefly touches him before stepping over the pills and shuffling into her bathroom.

Now, she takes a quick inventory of herself; all of her tattoos are still there, her various birthmarks are still in their proper places, her face is definitely hers. 

Thinking that this surely must simply be a nightmare, she curls up into the tub and goes to sleep. 

Frustratingly, she wakes only seconds later, and is back in her bedroom, opposite the man in her bed. Growing tired of the strangers appearing seemingly out of nowhere, she grabs him by the neck and thrashes him back and forth before walking back out of the bedroom. She trots down the stairs to her closet, and tries to find something to wear. She convinces herself that if she can find a cohesive outfit, she can go out and escape whatever sort of hell was emerging in her home. 

The man appears again, and Florence is annoyed. She pushes him away before disappearing into another room full of clothes, and continues to search. She is getting tired, but she continues to do her best to find something to wear. 

Suddenly, she hears screaming coming from the other room. She walks in to find the clone beating the man with various items of clothing. The man is cowering on a chair, begging her to stop.

Florence is too tired to do anything about it.

She returns to the other closet, and finds a simple oxford and vest to wear. She quickly puts it on, and then descends the last set of stairs into her living room. She sits on the couch, resting her head in her hands.

_ What the fuck is happening? _ she wonders.  _ How the fuck am I in London? _

Desperately, she tries to remember any drugs she might have taken. It’s the only possible explanation she can come up with to explain how she has gone from L.A., to Mexico, back to London. Being a generally creative and imaginative person, she had been on some pretty wild trips, but nothing as crazy as this.

Before long, the man and clone are back. 

Florence watches as the man and her exact likeness make out on the chair across from her.    


Is that what I look like? Florence wonders as she watches the woman, who is now in an identical outfit, move all over the man in a wild fashion.

Eventually Florence stands up, and pushes the clone away. She stands behind the chair, and gently places her hands on either side of the nameless man’s face.

_ Well, he’s definitely real. _

For a moment, the clone pushes Florence away, but the man quickly gets up and follows her across the room. They embrace for a moment, and once again, Florence savors the feeling of human contact. Coming to her senses, though, Florence pushes him away and throws herself back on the couch. She deeply inhales, and then lets out her loudest scream as she watches the clone beat the man and thrash herself over and over again against the chair.

After a few minutes of screaming with her eyes closed, Florence hesitantly opens them to find the clone and man gone. Slowly, she gets up and walks the few steps to her kitchen.

“Flossie! You disappeared for hours, we’ve been missing you!” Florence’s father exclaims. Her kitchen is full of family, and Florence feels lightheaded again as the aroma of food hits her nostrils. 

“Hi,” she says slowly. “Sorry, I’m here now,” she says, shaking her head and muttering under her breath as she goes to the stovetop to mix a curry that had apparently been already simmering.    


Now  _ this _ feels real. Her brothers are on one end of the table, chatting away while her two sisters make fun of them from the opposite side. A few of her cousins occupy the other side of the table. Florence thinks that maybe things have gone back to normal, that maybe all of this was just an incredibly bad trip mixed with a bit of memory loss. 

This peacefulness goes on for about fifteen minutes before Florence turns around to find the clone throwing herself all over the table. 

Florence bites her lip as she watches her likeness break dishes, and fight her family, and scream at absolutely nothing. 

She does her best to ignore it, collecting plates and serving wine, but eventually, she can’t take it and she disappears into the garden. 

It takes Florence a few minutes to calm down. The nameless man appears, offering comfort to Florence, but ultimately she just laughs at how absurd the situation is and goes back inside, locking herself in the bathroom until she is certain everyone has left. 

Once there is complete silence, Florence slowly opens the door and tiptoes to the stairs. She manages to get up the first flight without issue, but then, as she turns the corner, the demonic looking clone is on the landing. 

Florence sprints on all fours up the stairs, trying to outrun the clone. Eventually, the clone grabs her by the foot, stopping her in her tracks. Florence turns around and grabs her by the neck, trying to apply enough pressure to kill her. As she watches her face go pale, she can’t take it anymore. How can she be certain that this person who looks  _ exactly _ like her  _ isn’t _ her?

She lets her go and then runs up the last few stairs. She lets out a weak scream and then falls to the floor in exhaustion. Surrounded by the same pills from earlier, she once again falls asleep with the funny feeling of having something stuck in her throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a minute! I'm back to writing at least for a little while, I promise I'll have a new chapter of Under up soon (I'm just trying to edit it to a place where I'm happy with it).
> 
> I hope you're all doing well!! Comments are always appreciated :) x


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